Sunshine, Daises, Butter Mellow
by Nytel
Summary: Written for a friend who requested Ron/Hermione. The prompt of hers I chose was 'yellow'. Rated G.


**Sunshine, Daisies, Butter Mellow…**

Ron arrived home from work, stepping out of the dying green flames of the fireplace and into the living room of his and Hermione's new house. He was slightly taken aback by the sight that greeted him. It wasn't his wife, sitting in her favorite chair, feet propped up on the ottoman that surprised him, it was what she was doing: knitting.

Strewn across her lap and piled onto the floor were strands and strands of bright yellow yarn. The horrifying sound of knitting needles clicking together filled the air as they turned the wool into… well, he didn't quite know what. All he knew was that it was kind of big, and really, really yellow.

"How was work?" Hermione asked brightly, before flicking her wand lightly to correct the pace of the knitting charm.

"Good," Ron replied after a moment. He hadn't moved since exiting the fireplace. It was just so yellow… "Um, 'Mione?"

She smiled up at him. "Yes, Ron?"

"What's with all the…?" He waved his hand at the pile of wool between them.

Hermione sighed. "I'm knitting," she stated matter-of-factly.

Ron bit his lip, keeping in all the comments that would surely have him sleeping on the couch that evening. "Starting up SPEW again?" He questioned, doing everything he could to keep his voice from sounding horrified, though he didn't think he really succeeded.

"It's S.P.E.W." She corrected him. "And no, that's not what I'm doing. House elf welfare has really taken a turn for the better lately. They are doing just fine."

Ron sighed in relief. So long as it wasn't SPEW, he could handle it.

"No," she continued on, as Ron dusted off the stray ashes from his robes and took a seat in the chair next to her. "This is for you," she said, turning her head to beam at him happily.

Or he thought he could handle it. "Me?" He gulped. Oh no…

She nodded. "Yes, your mother came by earlier and showed me the knitting charms she uses to make all the Christmas sweaters. She thought that since we'll be starting our own family soon," her hand dropped unconsciously to her barely noticeable baby bump, "that I should learn how to make them."

Ron felt a surge of pride as Hermione mentioned the baby, even in spite of the odd circumstances.

"I told her I thought it was a brilliant idea." Hermione's smile faded a bit as she observed the piece of work growing in front of her. "Now, you wouldn't believe it, but these charms are a lot harder to get right than you might think." She flicked her wand again, murmuring another correction lightly under her breath. Ron thought he might be able to make out a sleeve in the midst of the growing fabric.

"It looks great, Hermione," Ron lied encouragingly. Harry had warned him how cranky pregnant women could be, and he thought it would probably be best for everyone if he avoided that route with Hermione. The approach had been working well so far. And besides, a little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone.

"You think so?" She asked excitedly, angling her head to admire the piece from a new vantage point. "Well, it's all right I guess. Certainly not perfect yet."

Ron smiled. "It looks great to me."

"It does?" She beamed, leaning across the small gap between the chairs to kiss him lightly on the lips. The action was unexpected, and he couldn't help but blush a little bit. Yeah, he definitely liked the avoidance route.

"You'll wear it then?" Hermione asked, still smiling.

Ron had to fight to keep his face from giving away his dismay—he hoped she only meant around the house. He could live with that, but if he had to wear it in public…

"To Christmas dinner at the Burrow next week?"

It took everything he had to fight back the groan. His mind scrambled for a quick way to get out of it, but no ideas came to him. "Um…" He answered quietly, still striving for an excuse, any excuse.

"Do you know why I chose yellow?" She asked, obviously having taken his noncommittal mutter as a yes.

"No," he said, somewhat distracted as he still tried to brainstorm.

"Guess."

"What?"

"Guess why I picked yellow," she said, sounding slightly exasperated.

Damn, he realized he wasn't going to get out of it. He sighed. Oh well, he might as well just go along with it then. "Because it matches my hair?" He joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Ronald. Please, be serious."

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, Hermione, I have no idea."

She avoided his direct gaze, like she was suddenly embarrassed or something. He didn't know why, the fact she was knitting the monstrosity was embarrassing enough, and she didn't seem worried about that.

"It's the first color I ever heard you say," she said quietly, pretending to be examining the quality of the stitches being created in front of her face.

Ron was often confused by what his wife said, but this time it was more than normal. Perhaps those pregnancy hormones had turned her mental. "Huh?"

She sighed. "Don't you remember?" She asked, turning to look at him. "When I walked into your compartment that first day on the train—"

Suddenly Ron had a flashback to his first day at Hogwarts, the day he'd met both of his best friends, though he never would have guessed it at the time. "Sunshine, daises, butter mellow…" He started softly.

Hermione smiled.

"Turn this stupid fat rat yellow," they both finished, their eyes locked together.

Ron laughed. "I can't believe you remember that."

Hermione shrugged, and looked at the sweater again. Ron thought he might have seen a faint blush on her cheeks, but he wasn't sure.

"Of course the spell was completely ridiculous. Not a spell at all." She continued on past that, but the rest of the words washed over Ron without sinking in. His mind was still stuck on the why of the color.

He glanced at Hermione's face as she continued on, dissecting the idiocy of the spell, and he smiled without reservation. When he looked at the sweater a moment later, he thought maybe it didn't look quite so bad, and he knew that in a week's time he would show up at his parents' house, wearing it proudly.

The End


End file.
